


Guilty Pleasures

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20818805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: Everyone needs something to feel guilty for.  Even the Left Hand of the Divine.





	Guilty Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/gifts).

_ “Let us never speak of this again.”  _

She remembered. Oh, she remembered - but she remembered so much more than that. The rocking of the ship, the beautifully accented voices that matched the rest of them...Isabela’s contralto, the warm and rich notes promising something earthy, Zevran’s smooth viola, and her own soprano, fluting above the others...the symphony of flesh and desire...

_ “Let us never speak of it, so long as we can do it again.” _

Oh, she remembered.

They never had spoken of it again. Even when the triad of harmony was replaced by a periodic duet.

Amber-gold eyes, the lazy eyes of a predator that  _ knew  _ the prey wants to be caught…

_ “You, take vows? Oh, no. Not my Nightingale.” _

The pirate’s rich voice was enough, even in memory, to make a shiver run down Leliana’s skin. ‘Nightingale.’ When Justinia had asked her to become Left Hand, Marjolaine’s lessons were what she drew on, and the value of nothing being written with your own name. It wasn’t just that, though. Instead, she’d  _ claimed  _ those lessons. Claiming - she remembered again, a very different sort of claiming, far from the Chantry’s halls, and the pirate who so cheerfully took what she offered.

Perhaps that’s why  _ she  _ claimed the name given in such different circumstances.

Leliana shook herself, turning back to the papers in front of her. None of them were full of musky delight; they were dark in a very different way. Forces moving thus. A few dangerous Grand Clerics spreading rumors…

All of them called to her.

What to do? What needed to be done, of course.

Leliana focused on her work. Reputations to ruin - and throats, when a reputation wasn’t enough warning. Information to collect; blackmail for Josephine or for her own work in Justinia’s name, lives to count as they slipped through her fingers. Everything under a different mask, a different name. 

She remembered.

Nothing could be traced back.

The cacophony around her wasn’t soothing, but it kept her alert. Each call was a message received. Each coughing screech, a request for a response. It was a dark world she lived in, and her birds lacked the nightingale’s clear, piercing beauty.

“My dear Nightingale,” the rich, coy voice shattered her focus, “is this rickety tower really the only place your Inquisitor could put you?”

Leliana swallowed. Failing, she fumbled to take a sip of the wineglass nearby, trying to moisten a suddenly parched throat. “You shouldn’t be here. Your ship…”

“Don’t worry about my ship. She’ll tack the way she’s ordered, and has a  _ very  _ firm hand on her tiller.”

She was nearing forty! Isabela’s double entendres shouldn’t affect her - and thanks to the years, they did so less than they had. The flush only ran through her blood, rather than along her cheeks. “Still, it isn’t wise to deliver messages personally. I know we have talked about this before, Isabela.”

The pirate’s chuckle showed that even if her face followed her orders, her voice lingered a little too long on the sultry syllables of her name. “Sister Nightingale. How  _ much  _ a Sister, I wonder...and can you still sing so prettily?”

The glass trembled in Leliana’s hand until she noticed and stilled it. There was a faint click as it found its place on the table. No, there were no messengers up here at this hour.

She shouldn’t.

She never  _ should  _ have.

It was something wrong, a distraction, something she’d kept hidden from Justinia - from Cassandra - from dear Josephine. She was the Left Hand. She should not be...be dallying like some minor noble! She should especially not be dallying with an unrepentant pirate and heretic.

Still, she didn’t resist her impulse with the one woman who reminded her of more halcyon days, no matter they were as filled with danger as now. Instead of the cutting remark or dismissive giggle that would be  _ wise,  _ Leliana pushed off her hood. Fingers took that simple invitation, and her eyes closed in pleasure as Isabella ran them through the hair at her nape.

“You haven’t answered me, my sweet.”

Everyone deserved some kind of joy, guilty or divine.

“Perhaps, Isabela, you should find the answer to the question yourself?”


End file.
